The Collection: Short Stories, Misfits, and One-shots

For the Love of a Cat

Happy Sunday, and here's another past assignment!  This one was based around description, so you had to include as many of the senses in this as possible.  I think I hit it out of the ball park with a gross twist, but sorry on that front.  Enjoy, and don't forget to vote and comment!  :)

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He had positioned himself in the best part of the bed, his legs crisscrossed, and the laptop perched precariously on a knee. Nothing outside of the story existed, his focus solely on the words that he typed. As of right now, he had found that crucial mood, his inspiration at its peak, the words coming to him as if in a whisper of suggestion. There were words he had forgotten he knew, and ones that he knew like the back of his hand, all blurring across the screen.

Years of internet advice on writing reminded him not to stop; to simply let it all pour out of him. He had probably been in that position for several hours, the ear-buds fitted snugly in his ears, blasting music his parents had warned would make him deaf, but that outcome didn't matter right now.

This was the most he had written in a while, the story growing several thousand words in his period of epiphany. The document tracked his word count, the numbers flying with each word added. He was at 27,000 now, his project pages and pages long. His smile grew as he noticed the tracker, appreciating the small sense of triumph that formed in his chest. In one of his many background windows the music stopped, and he switched to it, glancing at the video choices on Youtube. It was enough of a pause for him to look at the bed around him, catching the eye of his cat that sat on a matching black blanket, its form nearly invisible from far away. His sleepy yellow-green eyes stared at Sam in slight confusion, sensing the likely welcome halt in typing.

Whatever thought that had been saved for the next sentence was gone in that quick moment, Sam sighing in annoyance. With a groan, he pulled out the ear-buds and set them and the laptop to the side, picking the cat up. "You aren't mad at me, right?" He held the cat in front of him, searching its eyes for forgiveness. All it gave him in return was a glare of agitation, its little legs moving against him, begging to be put down. Sam relented, resting it in his lap, his hands subconsciously petting its black fur, hoping he hadn't angered it.

When the cat stayed, he allowed himself to look around the room, taking in his several bookcases, all filled to the brim with novels well worn, but well handled. There was also a desk, but he had never sat at it, the chair the equivalent of a rock, killing his butt and back whenever he was forced to work there. The only light came from his nightstand, casting the room in a warm yellow glow. He was sure it was late, his one window showing black through the small slits of the blinds. A head butted against his hand and he stared down at his cat, laughing at its frustrated look. He hadn't realized he had ignored it. "Sorry buddy, didn't mean to stop." His fingers scratched at its head, a smile forming as the cat began to purr, the sound incredibly loud in his always silent room. "Do you like that?" The cat raised its chin, beckoning Sam to scratch there. Sam was happy to oblige, laughing as the cat closed its eyes in bliss.

That was when a guttural sound came from the cat, a strange movement coursing through its body. Sam knew almost instinctively, what it was, his body moving quickly, the cat leaping to the carpeted floor. There was a little horror in him that pulled his eyes straight to the heaving form of his cat, watching with terror as the hairball came out. The sight of the unnatural clump was bad enough, but then the smell hit him; acid with a little recent cat food to go with it. He gagged on the horrid air, trying to look anywhere but at the cat and the thing that came out of it. The cat though, stared right at the mess, its expression that of surprise, like it couldn't believe that had come from it.

If Sam thought he was going to sleep tonight, he was kidding himself. His mother would tear him apart if she found out he had let the stain set into that cream colored carpet. He wouldn't survive the morning, let alone the night, but cleaning would also definitely wake him up. For now, he opted to glare at the cat who stared right back, unfazed by its owner's anger. "Do you hate me?" he asked in his frustration.

He groaned as quietly as he could and got up, stepping around the cat and its new friend. The air outside his room was clean, and he found himself sucking in a lung full of air, relishing in its purity. The hallway was completely dark, all the rooms housing his sleeping family. He crept into the bathroom and got out the carpet cleaner and supplies, taking them back with him. When he got back inside his room, the cat was no longer there, leaving him alone with its mess. He could almost feel the anger rising up in him at that realization. Angrily, he cleaned up the spot, gagging when he was so close to it. No amount of paper towels took away the wet and mushy feeling of the throw up as he slid the sheet into a bag and sealed it, taking away a portion of the odor.

Sam released a low growl as he spritzed the carpet with the stain remover, his hands shoving a wet rag on top, and nearly punching the floor to clean it all up. He had been at least slightly tired before, but now he was livid, and entirely awake. "Stupid, stupid cat," he muttered, his hand jabbing at the towel, the fabric soaking in the liquid. Cleaning was not the end to his night that he had anticipated at all, he had figured there would be a point where the words would stop and he would somehow fall asleep. That might have been a dream but this was just a nightmare, one concocted by the bowels of his oh so loving cat. The unsettling part was that come tomorrow he and the cat would treat each other like none of this ever happened. For now, he was happy being furious at the mess his cat had left him.